Glimpse: Independence

On weekends the university grounds are mostly empty and the old man often took the little girl for a walk around the trees, through the courtyards, around the fountains and avenues, and up the steps.

Mostly the little girl ran free and decided where the pair would go, but the old man became anxious when her way led to concrete steps - steps designed for bigger people - wide steps with hand rails only at the sides.

The old man had trained the little girl to hold his hand when they were walking along a road or in a car park or close to streams - and until that day the little girl had seen steep concrete steps as a place to hold his hand.

Not that day.

- Hold my hand.

- No.

- You've got to hold hands if you want to climb the steps.

So she did. Clasping her hands in front of her, she turned to the old man.

- I hold my own hand.

Glimpse: Running

The little girl runs. And runs. And runs.

She runs to the leaves. She runs through them, scattering auburn oak leaves, feet disappearing in their depth, diving into windblown heap, swimming in leaves - body-surfing.

She runs to the soccer centre circle, stepping onto the line and following it, running round, to jump into Grandad coming from the other direction.

Once is not enough - turn, and run the line to the end of the circle. "Again." "Again."

She runs to the Azalea garden, and runs, following random paths - sheer joy in choosing forks: "This way".

She runs to the steps down to the stream, down to the ducks, throwing bread from the bridge. Most of the bread - also wolfing slices to re-fuel - then throwing another slice up-stream and rushing to the other side to see it washed down under the bridge. Pooh sticks! And ducks! So much fun!

"Again Grandad."

Out of bread, she runs up the hill to the old staff club (empty in the morning), up to try the door, explore the deck, the ramp, the steps, the smokers' seats. "Don't touch that. Dirty."

Off to the trees. Hiding. "Is she there, behind this one? No. This one? Where's she gone?" Peeping out from the next tree, but not there when the old man gets there!

Off she goes, tree to tree, heading for the road. "Hold my hand when we are by the road. Ready for home?" Grandad is! So they turn back.

Then they walk past a gate back into the park: she's off again. Back to the centre circle. And again. Back to the Azalea garden. Finally back on the footpath holding hands.

Walking now.

Stop to watch a tyre being changed. Exhausted suddenly after two hours of running, she lies down on the footpath. Sprawled on the path. Worn out by too much life, unable to get up.

"Ready to go?" Nothing.

"Let's go and tell Mum about the ducks." Nothing.

"Can I carry you?" Arms reach up, and she is swung up onto Grandad's shoulders. That's better - grabs Grandad's ears (!) and off they go. Home.

Re-learning our prayers

Most of us have a mental resource of memorised prayers.

People involved in church-going - and those of us brought up in church-going homes but no longer joining a parish on a weekly basis - still have prayers, often learnt back in our childhood.

For many people these prayers are very deeply buried and only come to the surface in times of crisis.

Usually those prayers were learned at an earlier age - a period in our lives when our understanding of life, and our relationship with our God, were less mature.

As I have come to a better understanding, I have re-written some of my old prayers so they stay meaningful to me. Several years ago I re-wrote my favourite Act of Contrition - a prayer I had absorbed from the Stations of the Cross liturgy of my childhood. It is one of my normal memorised prayers. My version is

   Oh God, I love you with my whole heart and above all things
   And with all my heart I am sorry 
   for the times I have tried to live without you in my life.
   May I never miss the mark again.
   May I love you without ceasing, 
   and make it my delight to do in all things your most holy will.

There are only two significant changes from the version I learnt 60 (!) years ago - but they have made the prayer something I want to say every day.

First: I have come to understand that, for me, there is only one thing that I (and I think, most people) need to apologise to God for: all the little things we have tried to do with our own strength, for our own purpose, aiming at our own good. That is why I say I am sorry for the times I have tried to live without you in my life.

I know there are evil people (although not as many as the media would have us believe). But nearly always when most of us get it wrong in life, it is because we have not allowed God into our hearts - or into our decision making process. Only then are we capable of selfishness and arrogant disregard for the needs of others.

But I have also come to see that when I get it wrong on my own, it is just about always because of my own fears or resentments. These two emotions can cause me to attack others, hurt others, manipulate others. These emotions can lead me into alienating others, objectifying others (treating them like objects rather than as fellow-creations of our God), and marginalising others (pushing them away from me and the warmth and comfort here at the centre, into the cold insecurity and poverty on the margins).

Fear is why I ignore the lilies of the field, and accumulate wealth and worry about safety, and why I struggle to build security.

We live in a world where fear and resentment elect unethical politicians, and where even ethic leaders bow to the groundswell created by fear and resentment as they generate our public policies.

That is what happens when I try to live without God in my life. 

It NEVER happens when we allow God to be active in our lives - it never happens for individuals when they do it - and does not happen for countries when they do it.

The second change in my childhood prayer is changing the translation for the word "sin". In an earlier post I looked at the origin and meaning of that word "sin". I said that "sin" is a word that separates a lot of people from organised religion.

In translation from Hebrew and Aramaic into Greek and then Latin the original meaning for the idea was lost. The original meaning was a metaphor from archery and means "to miss the mark". We all miss the mark all the time (nearly always because we have stopped being aware of God in our lives).

So in the prayer I use today I have been explicit about that meaning.

In my version of the prayer I have deliberately kept the focus on "my heart" and I have kept the ending. The ending is what initially drew me to the prayer - that sense of euphoria and delight when we KNOW that we on the right path, the sense of satisfaction when our arrow thuds into the mark. That's what happens when we live with God in our lives.

   May I love you without ceasing, 
   and make it my delight 
   to do in all things your most holy will.